


Nocturne

by Mirimea



Series: Rags to Rags 'verse [2]
Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance, Sickfic, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 11:43:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4875574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirimea/pseuds/Mirimea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kevin is sick; Connor cares for him. The subconscious is a strange thing. Price/McKinley, indulgent sick!fic. Part of the same universe as Rags to Rags but can be read as a stand-alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nocturne

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for the response to Rags to Rags, I treasure all your comments. ♥ This story is set in the same universe, an unspecified amount of time after RtR finishes. It can however be read as a general "established relationship" sort of story. The first part of this was posted to my tumblr a couple of days ago, but it demanded more attention, so here is the full version. I hope you enjoy!

Both of them are light sleepers but Connor is undeniably the worst. He is pulled to the surface from an abstract dream and his brain takes a few moments to process his newfound state of awareness and the darkness around him. Beside him, Kevin is muttering something in his sleep, hand twitching where it is resting on the pillow beside his face.

"...ome unto."

Connor has neither heard nor seen Kevin talk in his sleep before. He moves closer, and even now his heart swells in his chest as he marvels at the fact that _this_ is something he can do now. It hadn't even been a proper dream, barely even a fantasy. It had been something he had never allowed himself to think of as even the slightest possibility. Yet here he is, in their shared bed in what used to be Connor's own room in their apartment. Now it is simply called The Bedroom, and Kevin's old, slightly smaller room is The Office, which is basically the place where Kevin keeps his study desk and Connor sometimes studies and more often uses to practice steps.

"...if men come unto me," Kevin mutters, or repeats, and Connor feels his heart sink as he recognizes the scripture. The quote is well-known. Kevin moves restlessly and Connor can't resist his urge to stroke Kevin's hair out of his face. He may have a slight fetish for Kevin's hair, soft and thick and oh so pleasant to run his hand through, even though Kevin usually protests against Connor messing it up.

He's not particularly surprised to note that Kevin's forehead feels warm. It's perhaps a little late for the flu but it's not completely unseasonal yet. Connor strokes his hair again, willing some peace of mind into his boyfriend.

Kevin turns to lie of his back, says "And if men come unto me" surprisingly clearly and opens his eyes. It is unsettling at first to look into Kevin's unfocused brown eyes, then, some amount of realization creeps into his face. He takes a breath.

"I can't remember," Kevin says, voice rougher now that he's awake. He turns back onto his side again, facing Connor. His eyes are glassy with fever. "It's gone."

"You don't have to." Connor rests his head back on his pillow again, reaches out to run his hand over Kevin's upper arm in what he hopes is a soothing motion. He glances at the radio alarm clock on the bedside table; the red numbers show 04:37. It's still dark outside. "You have a fever."

"And if men come unto me," Kevin recites again. His voice gets louder with frustration, he looks at Connor pleadingly. "The rest is gone."

Connor moves his hand to stroke Kevin's cheek, meeting Kevin's worried brown eyes. He suspects that his boyfriend is still not completely awake. "Shh. Sleep"

"You don't _understand_." Kevin shuffles to change position, moves closer to him. "I forgot it before and now I'm doing it again." He sounds so miserable that Connor feels his own heart ache even though he knows that his boyfriend's fear is caused mainly by a fever dream. He's not especially fond of the quote itself, can't remember it word for word, at least, he can't remember it at almost 5 o'clock in the morning.

He puts his arm over Kevin's body, pulls him into a hug and marvels again when Kevin moves to tuck his head beneath Connor's. Kevin is not a cuddle person and he usually likes his space, especially when he sleeps.

For him to actively seek comfort like this never happens and must be a result of the fever. Connor feels a pang of guilt for enjoying it, enjoying the surge of protectiveness and the feeling of Kevin's body against his own.

"It's fine," he mutters into Kevin's hair, his arms tightening around him. "Relax."

Kevin mutters something into his collarbone, a puff of hot air against Connor's skin. Eventually, his breathing evens out again, his body relaxing.

In time, Connor falls back asleep as well.

* * *

Kevin is drifting alone on enormous waves that pull him up and bring him down until he feels nauseous and is drenched in ice cold water. Sometimes he is aware of another presence nearby but the whirling water is filling all of his senses, making it difficult to discern anything specific.

He is in Uganda. The heat spreads in his body, but it doesn’t feel right. He’s shivering despite the heat. He’s tossing and turning in his thin bed in the tiny bedroom he is sharing with Arnold, the sheets tangling in his legs to trap him in the warmth. He’s rehearsing a phrase that might help him get through the night, day, week, and years. His head starts to ache and the phrase eludes him. He bemoans the loss.

 _“You don’t have to. You have a fever.”_ Connor’s voice is safe, familiar, but even as Kevin hears the words, he feels cut off from the idea that any words might ever actually mean anything, ever again.

He feels it every day, every minute he spends in Arnold’s company. It’s what he had forgotten, or what he had never learned. There are so many things he never actually learned and he feels so stupid for it now.

The icy glare of the fluorescent lights in the coffee shop makes him shiver again. Kevin has never been uncomfortable with lights before, usually relishes in being the center of attention, but the sheer glare of it is burning him. He tries to smile at the customers, but it turns into a grimace and he has to cover his eyes. He feels exhausted. The phrase is hiding at the back of his mind, refusing to come out when he needs it.

_“It’s fine. Relax.”_

* * *

 

In the morning Connor worries more than he likes to admit because it just figures that the few times Kevin does get sick, he does it spectacularly. They don’t own a fever thermometer, but Connor doesn’t need one to tell that Kevin’s fever is high Connor is no expert, he doesn’t know at what stage he ought to bring someone to the hospital. On the other hand, Kevin is young and usually healthy and most young people don’t actually need the hospital to get through the flu.

It is not that Kevin isn’t responsive. He is, at times. Connor has encouraged him to drink some juice, has given him blankets that Kevin occasionally wants to use and occasionally kicks onto the floor like a fussy five-year old. Other times, Kevin will keep his eyes closed, his face flushed as he mutters through his fever dreams. Most of it is nonsense, words and names, coffee orders. Some of it, Connor recognizes from long ago.

Once Connor has done what he can and seen Kevin drift off once again, he wraps himself in a knitted cardigan and pads barefoot over the floor to the kitchen to pick up his breakfast cup of tea before heading to the office. He presses his toes against the cold floor as he searches the bookshelves for the book he knows should still be hidden in here somewhere. When he finds it, or actually the two similar copies of the same book, he traces his finger over the familiar back before pulling it out. It’s Kevin’s copy, worn in places that Connor’s own isn’t.

He sits by Kevin’s desk, flipping through the book. Several sentences are underlined, some highlighted in different colors. There are even some notes, black pencil in Kevin’s small, sharp handwriting. Mostly the comments are to pull attention to important sections, but in some places there are question marks, several in a row, or even (perhaps unintentionally) sarcastic remarks such as “okay” or “what?” that make Connor smile.

Finally he finds the section he’s looking for, takes a sip of tea and reads the paragraph that seems to be plaguing Kevin.

_And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them._

While Connor reads, the sheer familiarity of the words tugs at him. It is one of his father’s favorite quotes and it is typically mentioned in mass as a source of comfort.

It is stifling, the Connor of today thinks.

He closes the book carefully and stands, taking his cup with him as he leaves to get ready for work.

* * *

 

Kevin is walking slowly, barefoot on the dry ground with the pants of his missionary uniform rolled up a couple of times to keep the worst of the dust away. He’s rounding the corner of their missionary building when he notes how quiet it is.

It is a memory, he thinks. Sort of. The heat is stifling and he can feel droplets of sweat run down his back.  

In the distance he can see Elder Cunningham… Arnold holding hands with Nabulungi as they wander down the side of the road together, seeming like they have all the time in the world to themselves. Kevin doesn’t quite remember where he was supposed to be heading, and doesn’t quite feel like interrupting their moment.

Instead he spots Connor, no, Elder McKinley sitting in the shade of a tree, flipping through a book with an alarming speed. Kevin feels himself walk over. “Hey.”

Elder McKinley looks up and his brown eyes are so familiar it makes Kevin’s throat ache with some emotion he doesn’t understand. He wants to get closer to this boy, but he doesn’t understand why. He likes the admiration he gets from Elder McKinley, but sometimes he gets the feeling that McKinley actually doesn’t _like_ him that much.

But Kevin is not _actually_ in Uganda, he knows. It is all some strange set-up, his own personal heaven and hell. But it does feel real, he thinks as he presses his toes into the hard earth that is the side of the road.

_“Are you awake?”_

Kevin squints at Elder McKinley, confused for a moment, then catches himself. “What are you doing?”

Elder McKinley smiles apologetically, holding up a worn copy of The Book of Mormon. “I borrowed your book for a moment. I seem to have misplaced mine.”

“Okay,” Kevin says slowly. “I thought you didn’t approve of the scriptures anymore.”

“Oh, I don’t.” Elder McKinley smiles sweetly. “But there are still lessons to learn.”

Kevin takes a step back. The phrase he has been looking for is rushing up, almost at the surface of his mind. So close, and suddenly he doesn’t want it.

_“Kevin, sweetie. Wake up.”_

* * *

 

Spring is unusually late this year. Ever optimistic, Connor had left his gloves behind that morning and has to breathe on his hands to keep them from going next to numb. It’s ridiculous. He feels guilt worming in his stomach over leaving Kevin alone, even if it’s only for a few hours during the ten o’clock class he has promised to take over while the ordinary teacher is away, and he hurries his steps as he heads down the sidewalk towards their apartment.

Logically of course he knows that Kevin is not going to fade away from being left alone for a little while and that is a problem Connor doesn’t often want to acknowledge. It is embarrassing to admit even to himself just how long Connor has been in love with Kevin. Not even Kevin himself really knows, because the answer is ridiculous.

Well, maybe love is a strong word. It certainly had been a crush at first, a silly one based on nothing but looks and Kevin’s admirable confidence. But it had grown into something more much faster than Connor himself is willing to admit out of fear of accepting himself as some sort of… well, a stalker or an obsessed lunatic or something.

But even in the early days in Uganda, a couple of weeks after Kevin’s and Arnold’s initial, disastrous arrival, Connor had started to pick up on things that he had been able to add on his mental “reasons to love Kevin Price”-list. It included the way he loosened his tie whenever he got away with it. How moody he was in the mornings. The way he’d sometimes laugh when Arnold startled it out of him, loud and genuine. How he’d set his shoulders, how his hands and elbows would stiffen whenever he was uncomfortable or nervous. It had been embarrassing, and when he’d left Uganda roughly a year later, he’d honestly thought that it would be the end of it.

When he had run into Kevin again, he had been determined to bury those feelings again. Moving in with him had probably been ill-advised, but had saved Connor from a tough spot as well because rent is never fun and the salary he would get was in no way generous. Not to mention that a familiar face is always comforting when moving somewhere new.

But it hadn’t always been easy… especially not when Kevin started to, well, respond, when Connor teased him. Connor could almost see it in his eyes somehow, how there was something there, but had convinced himself that it was simply Connor’s own hope and imagination.

Once they got together, it felt like pieces of a puzzle finally fitting together. It had been amazing. And it had been terrifying. Connor had denied his own feelings for so long. Opening up to them had been strange and uncomfortable. Kevin, on the other hand, had been surprisingly Zen about their feelings for each other. What had been more difficult was the _attraction_.

Kevin is good-looking, and he _knows_ it, moves with the entire confidence of a person who has never even considered the possibility of being seen as less than desirable in the eyes of other people. For this reason, Connor had been surprised to realize that Kevin had never actually considered the possibility of being _sexy_ in addition to his handsomeness.

It’s not something they have talked about, at least, not clearly. Their first time together had been glorious in all its awkwardness and Connor gets the impression that Kevin has never really considered sex as something plausible in his life, hadn’t even thought about the fact that these lack of thoughts might set him apart from most other young men. Connor doesn’t quite know what to do with that information. It’s not something he actually needs to bring up or discuss. If anything, it’s just another private part of Kevin that Connor tucks away within himself and treasures.

Finally he’s home. He walks up the stairs two steps at a time, calls out a careful “hello” and “are you awake?” when he steps through the door and takes his shoes off. Kevin doesn’t answer.

Connor creeps into the bedroom and finds Kevin sleeping, curled up under the covers much in the same way he had been when Connor had left. The glass of juice Connor had left on the bedside table is untouched. He walks closer, carefully, feels like a bit of a creep for watching Kevin sleep but finding some sort of odd comfort in watching his body move as he inhales and exhales. He gives in to the urge to stroke the bangs out of Kevin’s forehead and feels himself frown as he feels how hot he still is. “Kevin, sweetie. Wake up.”

Kevin frowns, buries himself deeper into the covers, and groans. “No.”

Connor smiles despite himself. “No?”

Kevin blinks awake, looking up at him with bleary eyes. “What?”

Connor sits down on the side of the bed, cupping Kevin’s cheek. He feels like he can’t _not_ touch Kevin right now when the other man is so mellow and miserable. “Have you slept all morning?”

“I’m sick.” Kevin leans into the touch, almost like a housecat. “I’m allowed to.”

“Sure,” Connor agrees, his smile widening. He thinks about biblical quotes and cold spring weather and about waking up in the middle of the night next to Kevin Price. He’s such a sap, it’s ridiculous what a fool Connor is for this guy.

“I have weird dreams,” Kevin mumbles. He tugs the covers closer to his body; Connor has to shift his weight to allow some leeway.

“About what?”

Kevin doesn’t reply; Connor can feel a shiver go through his boyfriend’s body. He can feel him slip away again and feels almost panicked at the thought of being left alone and unable to help. He reaches for the untouched glass on the table. “Please just drink something?” He takes a few sips from the full glass to make it easier to tilt without spilling, then pushes at Kevin until he reluctantly props himself up enough to drink.

Kevin makes a face. “Lukewarm.”

“Sorry.” Connor sets the glass aside again, watching as Kevin burrows back under his pile of blankets and drifts off again.

Connor remains sitting on the bed for a moment, watching him sleep. There is a wrinkle between Kevin’s eyebrows that indicate discomfort and Connor wishes he could ease it by simply stroking his hair or cheek, but Kevin remains largely unresponsive.

Kevin’s phone buzzes against the bedside table, the screen lighting up to display a new message. Connor reaches for it, intending to turn off the vibrations. When he swipes his finger across the screen he notices two new messages labeled “Mother”. From the text previews he can see words such as “God”, “love” and references to specific chapters in the Bible. He sighs, turns off the vibrations and sets the phone aside.

He has only met Kevin’s family a few times, but he knows how much his parents love and dote on their oldest son. This does not mean that they can easily accept the decision to live with another man _in that way_. If they’re angry they don’t show it; instead, they smother Kevin with their worry and guilt-trips about not only abandoning God and the church but also his family and his siblings. In their opinion, Kevin is the one who has cut himself out of the family, not the other way around. Kevin doesn’t talk much about it, but Connor hates the way he sort of hunches in on himself when he is speaking with his mother or father on the phone.

Connor can relate, in a way. His parents have pretty much the same view as the Prices, but Connor has the advantage of having been distant from his family for years, long before he had left on his mission. As the middle child of three and the only boy, he’d always been the odd one out. He’d kept his own dreams and passions locked up within himself, smoothening out his surface the best he could until he’d been able to pass as unremarkable (and been occasionally bullied in school in the process). He’d left to try and build his own life instead, but it hadn’t been until he met Kevin that Connor had felt himself get drawn out of the shell he had crafted for himself.

Kevin comes with his own set of problems, certainly, but even on his bad days Connor thinks that his boyfriend has the ability to almost _shine_. He seems to have been born with a natural charisma, and he holds the world to his own set of morals regardless of what anyone else thinks. He has always acted almost like a magnet to pull Connor out of himself. He sometimes feels like he owes Kevin so much, and Kevin doesn’t even _know_.

Kevin’s phone silently lights up with another message.

Connor hesitates for only a moment. He should plan out tomorrow’s lesson. He should work out and do his stretches. He should practice his steps.

Instead, he crawls over Kevin’s body towards his own side of the bed, graceless and still in his work clothes. The pile of blankets seem too hot to crawl underneath so he stays on top of them, curling himself close to Kevin and drifting off in a nap.

* * *

 

When Kevin wakes up, the room is dark, his throat feels thick and his mouth is parched. Every inch of his body feels weak, like it truly wouldn’t carry him if he attempted to stand. He sticks a hand out of his cocoon of blankets and fumbles into the dark where he somehow instinctively knows that there should be a glass. His fingers find the smooth, cool surface and he rolls onto his side and elbow to be able to drink properly. His back is aching.

His most urgent need taken care of, he leans back against his pillows again, squinting through the darkness. The presence of someone next to him in the bed isn’t strange to Kevin nowadays, but when he turns towards it, he is surprised to see that Connor is still fully dressed, lying on top of the covers. As he watches he can see Connor’s eyelids begin to flutter awake, probably from the bed shifting under Kevin’s movements. Even through the darkness, Kevin can see Connor’s struggle to wake and then, the moment when he actually reaches awareness.

“How are you feeling?” Connor mumbles eventually, running a hand over his face.

“Fine,” Kevin lies, wincing both at his sore throat and the rough sound of his voice. “What time is it?”

Connor turns his head, glances at the numbers on the alarm clock. “Half past eight.” He groans. “I didn’t mean to sleep that long.”

Kevin watches his boyfriend sit up and stretch his arms above his head. His clothes are rumpled and his hair messy. “Are you okay?” He has to swallow several times after speaking, wanting to get rid of the lump of, probably, phlegm, that seems to have settled in his throat.

He hates being sick.

“Sure, just disoriented.” Connor shuffles around in his sitting position to face him. “Want something to eat?”

Logically Kevin knows that he should because he doesn’t even remember when he ate last, but the thought of putting anything in his stomach makes him feel slightly queasy. “No.”

Connor nods and stands, leaving the room. Kevin can hear him move around in the kitchen. He stares at the ceiling through the darkness for a while, considers staying in bed or even going back to sleep again. He decides against it, moving carefully to stand up. His body feels shaky. He takes a blanket from his bed and wraps it around himself as he looks around for the Mickey Mouse slippers that Arnold had given him once before shuffling towards the kitchen and living room area.

He settles on the couch and watches as Connor bustles around the kitchen in his rumpled clothes to prepare some tea and toast.

“You could have stayed in bed,” Connor admonishes him as he carries the tray to the living room area, settling down beside him. Kevin grimaces at the toast but accepts the cup of tea, cradling it in his hands. He simply shrugs in response and lets Connor find the TV remote, turn it on some random channel and lower the volume.

They sit in silence for a while, Connor eating and Kevin sipping his tea. He feels his chest light up in mild pleasure when Connor finished eating and curls up against him.

“You’ve been talking in your sleep,” Connor says after a while, quietly. On the TV, some documentary about sea creatures is playing, the images slow and calming. Kevin stares at them while he racks his tired brain for what he might have possibly dreamt or said. The discomfort of his dreams feel distant through the warmth and companionship he now feels, and the memories elude him.

“Really,” he says. “About what?”

Connor is quiet for a moment. Kevin can feel him breathe against his neck, relishes in it. “Nothing special,” he says.


End file.
